The Down Feather
by dorchadas
Summary: One-shot placed in my story "Do you remember...? - France, May 1664" Wanted to be written, so I hope you ll enjoy! It s rated M and it s a feather involved - what do you expect! Eric and OC


_Disclaimer: Nope, don't own any characters from True Blood. OC and plot are mine._

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**The down feather**

Never listen to a Viking! Never believe a Viking! Never obey a Viking! Never!

Not even if it is your Viking! Especially not if it is your Viking!

Vikings were enemies! They had been, back in her human days. They were still.

This night proved it. She shouldn't have let her guard down. She wouldn't be enchained now. She wouldn't be blindfolded now. She wouldn't be tortured now.

"Bastard!" she hissed and was immediately silenced by strong lips pressed on hers, a tongue fighting its way into her mouth, penetrating her, dancing with her own tongue, tasting her, following the line of her teeth and lingering on her exposed fangs slightly longer. She could feel the soft mattress giving way under his weight on both sides of her head as he placed his hands there for support.

Without warning he left her side. Aodann snapped at what she assumed to be the place where he was standing. She should never have told him that she couldn't see his every thought when he was focused enough, that persons in trance or meditation were nearly invisible to her gift! Right now he was musing about how to attack a modern fortress and simultaneously recited the Edda mentally, paying strong attention to the right emphasis.

That's what you get when you trust a Viking!

She fought against the bonds, snapping at the air once more, her upper lip pursed widely over her fangs though there was no more point in fighting.

"Behave! You will like this!" he whispered in his calm voice that always had the sound of a smirk in it when he was up to something nasty. And nasty it became!

The very first contact made her body arch on the bed for she knew now what she would have to endure the next hours. A feather! A down feather!

She could sense Godric in the room across the hall, putting aside a book he just read to listen to his children more intensely. And she could sense that he had his fun doing so. Someday he would have to pay for not helping her now, for not putting her out of her misery.

A swift circle around her belly button pushed her plans of revenge away into a remote area of her mind for the moment and made her legs struggle wildly but to no use.

Aodann could hear Eric swirl around the bed, changing direction and speed every now and then as if he was still looking for the perfect angle, making it impossible for her to guess where he would attack next. She nearly believed to hear Eric's grin. Her senses were playing tricks on her – they definitely were against her, were on the Viking's side! Traitors!

"Aargh!" she screamed out enraged at the top of her lungs, her instincts taking control over her more and more. There was nothing more dangerous and deadly than a predator forced into a corner.

The next assault aimed at the sensible skin over her wrist where it was not wrapped in the leather bonds. Totally ignoring her snarls and snaps he let his tickling instrument of torture follow the line of her veins up the inside of her arm.

The wooden bed frame creaked reluctantly under her angry, jerky movements when he didn't stop at her armpit but guided the feather farther along the form of her body and drew more elaborate patterns on her waist and her groin.

Her torturer placed his mouth over her breast – she could feel the cold radiating from his undead body – and breathed against her nipple without ever touching, while in the meantime the feather travelled from her hip down along the outside of her tight and without warning went up again over the so much softer flesh on the inside.

She arched. She struggled. She hissed. The leather bonds cut into her flesh but she hardly felt it. When the feather danced on her body's most sensible and private part another feeling fought its way into her nervous system and her awareness.

Against her every will she was turned on, a certain warmth spreading inside of her. So this part of her existence was treacherous, too. Senses – traitors! Nervous system – traitor! Eagerness – traitor! Her sexual instinct - …

"Hmm!" A moan found its way out of her mouth without her wanting to show such weakness. Vocal chords – traitors alike!

Thus he continued, bringing her body to the edge of a climax several times without allowing her release while her consciousness battled against being turned on. She didn't want to give the Viking this kind of satisfaction. She bristled with every tiny little fibre.

It felt like ages later when he suddenly stopped. She felt him fumble momentarily with the bonds around her ankles. The leather at her wrist loosened just a second later.

_What…? Was this a trick? A trap maybe? Was he out of his mind? Insane? Simply frivolous? Plain masochistic? Suicidal?_

The predator that was Aodann under normal circumstances lay still for moment, silently adjusted and flexed her muscles after these hours of struggling in vain and waited for the possible trap to catch her. Nothing happened. She attacked.

In one fluid movement she freed herself completely, tore the ribbon off her eyes and flung herself against her torturer snarling fiercely. With the force of a cannonball she pinned him down to the timber flooring and, all animalistic instinct, ripped his throat open with her fangs.

The eager gulps of this delicious blood floating down her throat began to clear her mind eventually when the predator grinning and satisfied for now strolled back slowly into the darker, more primordial corners of her being.

Still spitting aggravated, her lips pursed over her fangs, Aodann lifted her head from Eric's neck and glowered into his eyes. The bastard was smirking his fangs elongated as well, his neck a bloody mess that still draw off her attention.

She could see her own reflection in his ocean pools as well as in his thoughts; could see his blood all around her mouth and dripping down her chin, a drop every now and then finding its way along her neck creeping down to her breasts and her eyes still gleaming with rage and desire.

His smirk grew even wider, even more smugly if possible when he recognized her gaze flickering between his eyes and the closing wound at his neck.

"Now tell me you didn't enjoy this!" he teased.


End file.
